


The Warmest Hello

by BlueberryDahlias



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: All I did was rewrite saf, M/M, Owen is gay and angsty, Tati is a lesbian now, but it’s Owen’s turn to be in the spotlight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23403913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueberryDahlias/pseuds/BlueberryDahlias
Summary: A UA of Spies Are Forever but Curt’s the one who fell instead.
Relationships: Owen Carvour & Barb Lavernor, Owen Carvour & Tatiana Slozhno, Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Comments: 18
Kudos: 105





	1. Curt, Owen, and the Russian Affair

In a Russian Weapons Facility, there were three men. Of those men was one of the greatest spies to ever live: Curt Mega. He was meant to steal the blueprints and escape that day, nothing more. Now, he was handcuffed to a chair, waiting for the torturing to end so he could leave.

“Hmm… you’re even stronger than your reputation suggests, Mr. Mega,” said a man with a heavy Russian accent. Something about him was familiar to Curt, he just wasn’t sure what. “Perhaps a more…  _ serious  _ method of extraction is in order, eh?”

“Do your worst!” Curt shot back, smirking. “I’m like a Russian nesting doll; you may break me down, but there’s four more of me waiting inside. Pretty soon, you’ll be left with just a tiny little version of me.”

The man was silent for a long pause. “I… do not understand what this means. But I  _ do  _ understand the sound of a man in pain. Do you fancy nursery rhymes, Mr. Mega?” This made Curt chuckle. “Hm. Oleg!” The man snapped his fingers to order his henchman to work.

Oleg stepped forward to Curt, pliers in hand and a smile on his smug face. “Which little pig is it going to be, eh? This little piggy went to market,” he squeezed the pliers down on one of Curt’s fingers, “this little piggy stayed home,” another finger, another wince, “this little piggy-  _ Ah!”  _ The henchman screamed in pain as Curt snatched the pliers and crammed them down on Oleg’s hand.

“And  _ that _ little piggy will have to nurse multiple fractures for three to five weeks.” Curt smiled. “Oink oink.”

“Huh! Well that’s a version I’ve never never heard before!” The Russian man strode over, head tilted. “You know, it would be really, really,  _ really  _ nice if you just uh…  _ told  _ us about the blueprints.” He kneeled down to Curt’s level to speak into his ear. “How about I use American sports metaphor? Are you ready to, how you say, ‘play ball’?” 

Curt sneered and spat on the ground like a baseball pitcher.

“...Oleg, crush his testicles.” The Russian man ordered. Oleg brought over a metal bat.

Curt grinned, “Swing batter batter, swing! C’mon, get up in there, c’mon!” Oleg swung, but the bat bounced off of the metal chair and hit the henchman instead. Again, he shouted in pain.

“No! Enough! Enough of the circus!” The Russian man cried. He grabbed Curt’s shoulders. “How can you be so cool and collected when you’re staring death right in the face?  _ Where  _ do you get off?” 

“Bedroom. Shower.” Curt smirked as the man’s cheeks flushed. “Maybe the backseat of a limousine? But I don’t feel we’re there just yet! Maybe on our next date, I’ll let you get to second base.”

“Hmph.” The man unzipped his jacket. “So that’s how you want to play this game, huh? Oleg, stand back.” From the pocket of his jacket, he pulled out an ostrich feather.

“ _ Shit. _ ” Curt hissed. He began to laugh uncontrollably as the man brushed the feather along Curt’s neck. “Stop! Oh god, okay, please,  _ please!” _ The man stopped for a moment. “I’m working for the American Secret Service.” The feather neared his neck again. “We- we need pictures! Of the new weapons you’ve been developing so we-  _ oh please stop! _ ”

“No, no, no. Not until you’ve given me every last bit of information!” He went in with the feather again but quickly stopped when Curt started to speak again.

“H-how could you _possibly_ know that I’m deathly ticklish behind my neck and ears?!” He started to take bigger breaths as the man took a few steps away.

“Well… personal history  _ does  _ have it’s benefits, Mega.” The Russian man smiled.

Curt realized how he knew this man, but he dared not to say, otherwise, he’d get them both killed. 

“Oleg?” The not-so-Russian man said. “We’re finished here.” He picked up a gun and pointed it at Curt. But he suddenly pointed the gun at Oleg’s knees and shot both, one at a time. Oleg screamed once again.

The man removed his fake mustache, and now suddenly with a British accent, he smiled. “Sorry to cut you down, old boy! Thank you for a lovely afternoon of letting off steam,” he took off his hat with a flourish, long hair swishing, “it was the bees knees.”

Curt smiled slightly himself, “Owen Carvour, you limey bastard!” Owen undid Curt’s restraints. “I knew it was you all along! That accent sure could use some work, though.”

“Oh, sod off! It fooled twenty Russian security officers and our dear friend, Oleg, over here.” Owen grinned as he handed Curt his gun. 

“You sure let him go to town on me, didn’t you?” Curt shot an incredulous look at his partner. 

“Yeah, I thought it might be nice to knock you ‘round a bit; good for the ego.” Owen zipped his jacket up and secured his gun. “Plus, I figured his day was about to get a whole lot worse.”

“Good point.” Curt looked down at Oleg and tilted his head. “Well, I hope you at least had some fun! I know we sure did.” He gestured to himself and Owen. 

“What’s h-happening?” Oleg demanded, voice rough.

“Well, you’ve just been used for sport by two of the greatest spies in all the world!” Owen took a few steps closer, eyeing Curt with a quick smile. 

“And, I’m about to escape this compound with the blue prints that I’ve stolen.” Curt cocked his gun, preparing it for the encounters to come.

“Undoubtedly killing countless men along the way!” Owen chimed. The pair kneeled down to Oleg, grins very apparent.

“And though we’ve obliterated your knees–”

“You’ll probably be one of the few who survive.” 

“So?” Oleg shouted.

“So _you’re_ _welcome_.” Curt smiled as his partner knocked out the henchman. 

The two of them stood and gave each other smiles. Owen stuck out his hand and Curt grabbed his wrist, a handshake the two had been doing for years. They pulled each other into a half-hug. It had been almost two months since their last case together, and Curt was happy to have his partner back. “I missed you, Carvour.”

“Don’t get all sentimental on me just yet, love.” Owen laughed. “Our work isn’t finished yet.”

The two agents raced down the hallway together. After all, it was time to save the world once again, they couldn’t dawdle. They came to a stop in an empty room, checking for boobytraps. When none were found, the two straightened their jackets, smoothed their hair, and continued on. 

Curt gave Owen a once over and smiled. “Ever dressed to impress.”

Owen shook his head, chuckling. “I could say the same about you.” 

Heat crawled its way up Curt’s neck and flooded his cheeks. He stuttered out a ‘thank you’, and the two continued on. 

They were careful when looking around corners. They were constantly moving back-to-back with watchful eyes. The goal was to get out fast, but if they could cause a little trouble, that was fine by them.

“Try to keep up, old boy!” Curt smiled down at Owen as he climbed a metal ladder. “Alright… oh  _ shit! _ ” He cursed under his breath, lifting his gun and shooting a man by the security alarm. But the man hit the alarm as he went down, sending the facility into red light.

A beep sounded on his watch.  _ Cynthia.  _ He pressed the button on it with a sigh.

“Mega!” His boss shouted into the phone. “Where the  _ hell  _ are you? Quit your tomfuckery and get me those nuclear weapon blueprints immediately!”

Owen bent over to Curts height and spoke into the watch. “Consider it done, Cynthia. You can expect those blueprints on the double!” 

“Is that Owen?” Curt could hear her smiling. “Thank  _ god!  _ Someone who actually knows what the hell they’re doing! M16 didn’t tell me you were on this mission.”

“Well, there’s a reason it’s called a  _ secret _ service, love– Curt, behind you!” Owen stood up straight and shot the man coming in. 

“Huh! Funny and focused.” Cynthia remarked. “Listen, if you ever wanna leave those stuffed-shirted redcoats you work for–”

“Well, I believe they’d call that  _ treason _ , my dear.” Owen put in.

Cynthia paused a moment. “Our door’s always open.”

Owen went to speak again, but Curt interrupted, “Gotta go!” He hung up.

“Jeez, you jealous?” Owen grinned at his partner. “You know I’d never work for the Americans!”

“Oh, I do know-” Curt pulled a flask out of his pocket and took a swig- “that you couldn’t  _ handle  _ it.”

Owen turned around to see the other man taking a drink. “Oh, Curt, no! Not until we’re out of here!”

In a mocking tone, Curt responded with, “Not until the job’s done!” He offered Owen the flask with a raised eyebrow and smirk. Owen accepted it with a soft sigh, taking one swig and handing it back.

They came across two guards that tried to take them again, but the agents easily knocked them out. Curt was about to say something to Owen when his watch beeped again.

“Curt! Do you read me?” Came a female voice the agents knew well.

“Barb.” Curt said in confirmation.

From her end came a sigh of relief. “I-  _ we’ve  _ all been worried sick! What’d I tell you about turning off your tracker?!”

“Every man deserves a little bit of privacy.” Curt fired back as the two men entered what looked like a break room. He grabbed a banana out of the fruit bowl.

“Sure, but you’re  _ not  _ a man; you’re property of the United States government!” Barb sounded angry.

“Barb, focus, what’s the plan?” Curt said, quickly trying to change the subject.

“Oh, sorry!” Her tone turned chipper once again. “Simply photograph the blueprints with the camera in your watch, and they’ll broadcast to my location a few miles away.”

“Eh, that sounds boring.” Curt shook his head. “Is there some sort of cool gizmo I could use instead?” 

“Fine,” Barb huffed, “are you wearing the brown shoes I gave you?”

Curt looked down, but in the darker lighting, he couldn’t tell.“Uhh, sure.”

“The left one is equipped with a rocket blaster!” Barb grinned.

“ _ Yesss! _ ” Curt smiled himself.

“Hm, your shoes are black, old man.” Owen raised an eyebrow at his partner.

“Aw shit, no-go on the shoes, Barb. They didn’t match my outfit.” Curt sighed. 

Barb sighed and cursed under her breath. “Well, it won’t be hard to walk you through how the watch–”

“We’re gonna blow this whole facility!” Curt grinned as he saw Owen with a whole box of explosives he found. 

“But the watch!” Barb insisted.

Curt didn’t listen though. Of course he didn’t. “Barb, send me your coordinates, we’ll rendezvous in 30.”

Barb sighed. “Jeepers… be  _ safe _ agents!” 

Curt leaned on a banister after Barb hung up, which broke immediately. He raised an eyebrow and shrugged. After he finished the banana he’d taken, he tossed the peel to the floor. Owen gestured to it in disdain. Curt shrugged, “what? The whole place is gonna be garbage in a few minutes! Who gives a shit?”

Owen sighed and shook his head, continuing on with setting up the bombs. A few moments later, he looked up from his work. “Pass me one of the chargers, love!”

“What’s our record?” Curt said back, a grin across his cheeks.

“Huh?”

“Berlin, last spring.” Curt clarified. “We made it out of there in, what, six minutes?”

“...I don’t like that look in your eyes.  _ Yes,  _ six minutes.” Owen said reluctantly.

“Oh, you love it.” Curt nudged his shoulder gently, his smile now soft. “Think we could do it in five?” 

Owen paused, thinking. Then he looked back at Curt with determination and a smile in his eyes. “Make it four.”

“Attaboy!” Curt encouraged. As Owen walked away, Curt looked down his watch. “Three it is…” 

A machine beeped and Owen nodded in satisfaction. 

“What’s the holdup?” Curt asked. 

“If we relog the safety barricades, we can limit the blast.” 

“We don’t have time for this!” 

“No, Curt, trust me. You’re going to want to do this, alright?”

“Alright.”

The two of them took off for the door, but were stopped outside in the hallway by a gaggle of guards with guns. They took off, being chased as they did so. 

“We’re running out of time!” Owen looked at his partner as they ran. 

“It’s gonna be fine; just keep going!” Curt insisted. 

The hallways were like a maze. The agents ran as fast as their legs would carry them, closely followed by the guards. They came to a deadend with a locked door. They turned around to be greeted with guns pointed at their chests. But a rumble shook the floor, catching everyone off-guard. The guards fell, but the agents kept each other on their feet. 

“Curt…?” Owen looked at his partner in concern. 

“I lied!” Curt didn’t meet his eyes. “I set the timers for three minutes!” 

“Oh, Curt Mega, you are going to be the death of me!” Owen growled as he broke down the door. He was greeted with the flight of stairs they’d taken to the basement. They’d gone in a circle.

“I’d never let you down!” Curt insisted as they climbed. As he turned to go up the next flight, he took a wrong step and slipped on the banana peel he’d left there. The agent fell to the floor far below with a shout.

“ _ Curt! _ ” Owen screamed.

“Owen…” the breath escaped Curt as he went down. With a bone-chilling  _ CRUNCH,  _ Curt’s body landed, blood splattering on the floor under his head. 

Owen backed away, horrified. There was nothing he could do. His partner was  _ dead.  _ Split his head open and everything… And if Owen didn’t leave right then, he would end up the same. They would have no chance at fighting the Russians if the blueprints were lost! He… he had to leave. As much as it hurt to say goodbye.

“I’m sorry, my love…” Owen whispered as he turned away. He fled up the stairs and out through the door, just as the bomb went off.

*****

“Once a spy, always a spy. From the warmest hello to the coldest goodbye, we’re always working. Remember, spies never die. Spies are  _ forever _ .” Cynthia had said at the funeral. “In our hearts, at least.”

There wasn’t a body. They hadn’t found him in the wreckage. But they still had a ceremony for him. 

It hurt Owen to go. It hurt to see pictures of his partner. It hurt to hear people talking about him. But he felt it was wrong if he didn’t show. He did love the man, after all.

He resigned from M16 to take a grieving period. In that span of four years, he turned to alcohol, which probably wasn’t good. He was too far gone to see that, though. One day, though… one day he returned to America. 

Cynthia ran into him and they went for coffee, where Cynthia offered him a job for the Americans. Owen accepted reluctantly, scared for what was to come.


	2. The Return of Agent Carvour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owen takes his first case in four years, but he’ll have to get around his memories... and a lousy informant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for such positive feedback on the first chapter! I’ll be trying to update this as much as I can! As a warning, there is much talk of alcoholism in this chapter, so if your sensitive to that, please beware.

The agency had flown Owen over to Budapest. He was supposed to meet his informant in a restaurant, but he had no idea what they looked like. He just knew that they’d be on the staff.

“I hear the salty fish from down under is simply to die for.” He said to the bartender. 

“What the  _ hell  _ did you just say to me?!” The bartender demanded, quite obviously offended. He eyed Owen’s suit. “Oh, is that one of those fancy drinks? We don’t serve those here.” 

“Well then, how about whiskey on the rocks?” The agent requested, trying for a smile.

“Oh whiskey  _ on the rocks _ , very fancy! You’re getting whiskey  _ with ice! _ ” The bartender grumbled, slamming down the glass he was drying. “Yeesh…”

Owen sighed and walked away to a table, resting his cheek on his fist. How was he supposed to find this damn informant? He’d asked at least three people already!

“Hello sir! Thank you for dining with us this evening.” Said a waiter with a French accent. 

With crossed fingers, Owen defeatedly responded with, “I hear the salty fish from down under is simply to die for.”

“Let me tell the chef that he must fry more.” The waiter said. It was him! The informant!

“The briefing said you wouldn’t be hard to find!” Owen said in a low voice. “How’s a bloke like yourself so well-hidden?”

The informant laughed, “sometimes I do my job  _ too  _ well.” He didn’t drop the French accent. “Speaking of a job well done, one whiskey on the rocks, with a  _ special garnish. _ ” He put a gun in the glass.

“Woah there!” Owen quickly took the gun, startled by the informant’s lack of subtlety. “We’re surrounded by civilians, what are you doing?!”

“Oh don’t worry about it! They’re enjoying themselves with our affordable drinks and somber music!” The informant turned around to a woman reading and snapped a few times. She didn’t respond. “These people don’t see what’s right in front of them because they don’t know what to look for.” He looked back at Owen, smiling. “They’re not like you and me, right?”

“Yes, well…” Owen sighed, “this isn’t the point. I need to get working, so what’ve you got for me?”

“Ah! Right,” the informant stood up straight and gestured to the menu. “Now, sir, if you’ll carefully peruse the menu, you’ll see what we have to offer you.”

Owen opened the menu and about a dozen papers spilled out.  _ Case files.  _ He scrambled to pick them up. “You can’t just leave top-secret documents lying around!” He hissed. “You never know who could be here…”

“Trust me, I have this under control.” The informant laughed again. “There’s only two copies of those papers; yours and mine.”

“Pardon me,” said the woman behind them, requesting the ‘waiter’. “I’m having trouble deciding between the  _ Arms Deal for a Deadly H-Bomb _ , and the  _ Only Shoot, We Need the Suspects Alive,  _ what would you recommend?” 

The informant chuckled. “That was the lunch menu.” He took the menu and turned back to Owen. “And she is none the wiser.”

Owen shook his head, sighing again, “in all my years of spying, I’ve had some carless partners, but I’ve never seen anyone as careless as you!” 

The informant took on a defensive tone, “I am not careless,  _ monsieur. _ I am a master of disguise, and I have never been caught! My record is squeaky clean. No infractions. No tardies. No  _ mysterious partner fatalities. _ ” 

Owen’s heart sunk. First case back, and people were already reminding him of his mistake. He wanted to get around that. He didn’t want to think about C… he couldn’t even  _ think _ the man’s name. Even that hurt.

“Yes.” The informant smiled smugly. “Your reputation precedes you, Carvour. How long has it been since you were in the field, three years?”

Owen shifted uncomfortably. “Four.” His voice was quiet with shame.

“After four years, why try again? Working for the Americans isn’t  _ starting over _ , you know? What have you to prove?” The informant pushed on all of Owen's wounds. Everything he was planning and hoping for was slowly shedding away. “Hm. How disappointing. I was looking forward to working with the ‘great Owen Carvour’! But it seems you’re not that man.”

“You’re definitely not getting a tip, old chap.” Owen said indignantly. He knew he was acting childish, but he didn’t care. This man was coming in between Owen and letting go of his past. Letting go was hard when anything he looked at could remind him of his Curt.

“Here’s a tip; your ballistic vest is in the coat check!” The informant announced, and Owen tried to shush him, but he didn’t listen. “Oh! And Cynthia left you a secret note that’s in the salt shaker, shhh!” He stood up and looked at the other patrons, “everyone out, we’re closed! Yes, out, out, out.” He left along with them.

Owen was alone in the restaurant now, staring at the case file. He hated being alone with his thoughts. It was dreadful.

_Why_ did he come back? He wasn’t sure. He never really knew why. He needed to get away from his old home in England. But spying again? He hadn’t planned on it, but he was kind of glad to get out of his rut.

_ But four years. Really, Carvour!? _ Owen sighed, resting his head on his fist. He smiled slightly when he realized that Curt would’ve scolded him in the way he always did to the shorter man. But maybe that’s what he needed. To be scolded and belittle and treated like shit, because this was his fault. 

Owen saw a bottle of whiskey on the bar and grabbed it, taking a large swig without bothering to pour it into a glass. He hated thinking about Curt when he was sober, but while drunk? ...It made him feel as if the egotistical little asshole was still with him. 

He’d had thousands of dreams about Curt. Nightmares too. But the nightmares only happened when he was sober. So, in the four years on his own, he’d been drunk almost every single day. But he knew he couldn’t keep that up forever.

Nobody knew how much it hurt Owen to lose his partner. He’d never told anyone how he was after Curt’s death. He didn’t talk to Cynthia, or Barb, or his friends at the agency, or… or Mrs. Mega. Oh god… he hadn’t talked to Curt’s mother. How was she fairing? Was she still alive? Owen knew he wouldn’t have time to go see until this case was over. Maybe seeing those photos of Curt would make him smile… 

Owen threw the whiskey bottle across the room, where it shattered against a wall. He breathed heavily for a moment. “Oh Curt…” the broken man whispered. “If you could see what I’ve become… and all the harm I caused… what would you think?” Tears welled up in his eyes, but he quickly wiped them away. 

The glass salt shaker on the table caught the light, reminding Owen of the message hidden inside. He sat up and opened it. The message read:

_Agent Carvour, I know you’re rusty, so this mission is easy. But that doesn’t mean I won’t treat you like any other agent. Don’t fuck this up, or I will kill you myself, understand? Good luck :)_

It was handwritten as opposed to typed. That made Owen smile a little bit. It reminded him how Cynthia would yell at Curt back in the day…

If it’s true what they say, that a spy is a spy no matter what, then Owen figured that Curt would want him to continue. He’d make Owen give up on drinking, because it wouldn’t help him. Curt would turn his life on its head, just like the day they met. The more Owen thought about it, the more he  _ wanted  _ to spy again. 

He could do all the amazing stuff he missed, like riding in planes and wearing suits. It didn’t matter if he got his lover killed, he could start over. He could have a new life!

He was the best bloody agent that M16 had ever seen. Now he would be the best agent that the American Secret Service had ever seen. Because he was Owen Carvour, and he never gave up on a challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost cried when writing this, oh no.


	3. God I Hope I Get It (The Bomb That Is)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owen’s mission is to get the bomb and leave, but a mysterious Russian woman stands in the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know proper Spanish, please don’t hurt me-

“This don’t feel right,” said a short man in a trench coat, “wasn’t he supposed to be ’ere by now?”

“Sergio will be here.” A man polishing a knife answered. “If he knows what’s good for him…”

At that moment, the door to the warehouse opened. A man with a Spanish accent and a fedora walked in, holding a briefcase and a… cake box? “ _ Ay, ay, ay,  _ my guys! Oh man, it is crazy out there! The parking is like nuts, and sometimes, you know, it’s like- you think you find a spot, but it’s like a motorcycle is parked there, and you’re like–”

Sergio froze, seeing the faces of the three men standing around a table. “Sorry I’m late, guys! I’ve um, I’ve had a lot of things to do today. It’s hard to juggle work and life, y’know?” He smiled a little. “You see, it’s my wedding anniversary. I had to stop at my wife’s favorite bakery.” He took off his hat. “I know I seem kinda tough, but I’m actually pretty shy, man. I-I do crime to provide for my family! And I mean, somebody’s gotta do it. These bombs ain’t gonna sell themselves!”

The three men didn’t look amused. In fact, they looked more and more annoyed by the minute. Sergio’s rambling wasn’t helping. 

“Sergio.” The tallest man interrupted him. The man was dressed differently from the other two. While they had trench coats and hats, this man wore a long-sleeved orange shirt, black slacks, and a tool belt sort of thing full of weapons. “Our business.”

“Oh. Right. Of course.” Sergio looked at his briefcase, “One bomb coming up! But um, real quick, would you mind signing something for my nephew Marco?” He pulled a little notepad from his breast pocket. “It’s just… if I just  _ told  _ him his uncle did business with the Deadliest Man Alive-” he looked at the two in trench coats- “and company, he just wouldn’t believe me, you know what I mean–?”

“Serigo!” The Man looked the other as if he was about to shoot him. But then his express softened. “I would be honored. Let’s make it quick though.” The two went to signing papers and explaining the bomb.

The two men in trench coats however, stood off to the side. “Y’know… I’m gettin’ real tired of this ‘and company’ rubish.” Said one. “I’ve just as many kills as he has, but I’m still part of the company!”

“Hold on a tick,” said the other, “you do realize he’s killed one thousand, one hundred, and forty-seven people! How many kills do  _ you  _ have?!”

The first one huffed, “I have one thousand, one hundred, and forty-six kills!” 

“Eh, it’s still one less.” The second one waved his hand in a dismissive manner. The first one took out a gun and shot him. “ _ Bloody hell!” _

“Welp.” The first man smiled. “Just tied it up, ’aven’t I? Say hello to the deadliest  _ men  _ in the world.” He gestured to himself and the DMA. 

“Oh, wow.” Sergio tilted his head. “Hey guys, heh. There’s two of you, you’re friends now- er, partners. That’s good, that’s good–!”

Sergio was interrupted by the DMA suddenly stabbing the henchman to death. There was blood everywhere; the floor, his hands, the now dead man on the floor. Through Sergio’s shouts of terror, the DMA stood up straight again, put away his knife, and said “there can be only  _ one,  _ my friend.”

“ _ Hay dios mio!”  _ Sergio exclaimed. “There’s bad guys, my man, and there are  _ bad guys,  _ my man! Am I right?”

The DMA raised an eyebrow, “Can’t you see how much I enjoy this? This is fun for me! I’m not like everyone else.” The Man was smiling now. “This is my calling, Sergio. It may be ludicrous and, I’ll admit, a bit disgusting. But I like making people bleed. Some people need to die, and I’m happy to help. Like you said about your job, somebody has to do it!”

“Might as well be us, right?” Sergio grinned.

“Exactly.” The DMA nodded.

Owen stood up in a higher level of the warehouse, closely watching the Deadliest Man Alive and Sergio Santos. The goal was to take that briefcase full of bombs. But how was he supposed to do this without getting killed? 

He looked at the gun in his left hand. Right. A gun. He could use that. He remembered how, it was just… harder than he thought it would be to readjust to it. Owen took a deep breath; he could do this. He looked up, squaring his shoulders. He started heading for the stairs when something caught his eye. 

On the other side of the warehouse’s catwalk stood a woman with fiery red hair and a handgun similar to Owen’s. She looked smug and a thousand times more prepared than Owen. Who was she? What was she doing here? Why did she have a gun? Maybe it was the same reason that Owen had one. 

The two men on the first floor of the warehouse continued talking about the bomb as Owen and the woman snuck in. Before Owen was completely down the stairs, though, the woman already held up a gun to the men. “Freeze! Your hands in the air.” 

“Okay, okay!” Sergio shouted, “I’ve got an insurance policy on the bombs, just don’t touch those baked goods, alright?”

“That was quick…” the DMA muttered.

“Shut your mouth.” Owen hissed, pointing his gun at the DMA’s head. 

The DMA turned around slowly. “ _ You.” _ He growled.

“Is that… Agent Owen Carvour?” Sergio asked, smiling. “Woah! I can’t believe this– the most famous spy in the world busting my arms deal! Hey, would you mind signing something for me–?”

“We don’t have time for this!” The DMA cut him off. Owen tried to shoot him, several times actually, but the DMA dodged every bullet. He got Owen’s gun away from him, pulling the trigger only to find the barrel empty. So he threw the gun at the agent and took off for the door. He stopped before reaching the threshold, “this ain’t over between you and me.” He continued to run.

“Hey! We’re not finished here, guy!” Sergio shouted after him.

“Oh, but we are finished.” The woman pointed her gun at Sergio. Owen now noticed that she had a Russian accent. He also noticed that she was gesturing to him to grab the cake box. It was subtle, but he understood. He’d picked up on silent messages like that over the years, it was sort of essential to being a spy.

So Owen grabbed the box, opened the lid a little, and pointed his extra gun at the contents. 

“No please!” Sergio begged. “Don’t ruin my anniversary- don’t make me go back to the bakery, please!  _ Hay dios mio!  _ Have mercy!”

Owen wasn’t the nicest man in the world, but he knew when enough was enough. He tossed Sergio the box, to which the Latino thanked profusely and ran out of the building.

Both the woman and Owen went for the briefcase. “This has been fun, but I’d better be off, love.”

The woman smiled sourly. “You are mistaken; I will be the one, how you say, ‘getting off.’” 

Owen frowned. “I’ve been through hell today trying to get this bomb. So, if you wouldn’t mind, hand over the case, my dear.”

“Hm, well that’s unfortunate. But I simply cannot hand it over.” The woman had a determination in her eyes that was just as fiery as her hair. 

“Please, ma’am, if I don’t get this to my superiors, I’ll look like a bloody fool.” Owen’s eyes had a puppy-ness in his eyes that made the woman’s facial expression soften. 

“Oh, but sweetheart,” she smiled, “you already look like a fool.” She kneed him in the crotch, to which Owen hunched over in pain. The woman got away with the bomb, but Owen now had a card in his hand.

_ Richmond’s Casino _

_ Monte Carlo _

That had to be where she was going. Owen secured his gun in his jacket and limped out to his car. He could tell Cynthia what he got. Hopefully she wouldn’t be too angry with him.

*****

A phone rang and the DMA answered. A voice with a heavy German accent asked: “has the transaction gone according to plan?”

“Everything was going well… then  _ he  _ showed up.” The DMA growled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, the only use of this chapter is to introduce the DMA and Tati. I didn’t try with this one lmao


	4. Like a Boss B*tch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owen Carvour goes to report his failed mission to Cynthia Houston, the head of the American Secret Service.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was fun. I had more creative liberty with it, since we all know that Cynthia wouldn’t treat Owen the same way she treats Curt.

Owen knocked on Cynthia’s office door, holding his breath as he waited for it to open. He wanted to deliver the bad news personally, rather than over coms like a coward. But now that he was here, well… it felt like there was an earthquake spreading through his whole body.

“Come in!” Cynthia called. She hung up on whatever phone call she was having, and looked at Owen expectantly. “Yes?”

“Cynthia,” Owen started, swallowing the lump in his throat, “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

“Well, sit down then, Agent Carvour.” Cynthia gestured for the seat in front of her desk. “What’s the problem?”

“I’m  _ dreadfully _ sorry to have to tell you this, but… I wasn’t able to get the bomb.” It took every ounce of self control Owen had to not start biting his fingernails.

“...what?” 

“There was a Russian woman there who got to it before I did. I’m so sorry, my dear.” 

Cynthia stood up suddenly, her chair falling to the floor and her hands slamming down on the desk. “What the  _ fuck  _ did my notes say?”

“To… to not fuck this up or you’d kill me yourself,” Owen mumbled.

“With a smiley-face,” Cynthia clarified. “Your job was simple. Your directive was clear. So how- in the flippity flappity  _ FUCK- _ did a dangerous weapon of mass destruction end up in the hands of a Russian spy, while we are in the middle of a cold war with  _ Russia _ , you dolt?”

“I know! And I’m sorry, Cynthia, but it’s not my fault that she was faster.” Owen pulled the card he got off the woman out of his jacket. “The good news is, I was able to get this from her: a location to where she’s headed.”

“I hope you know that doesn’t make up for your colossal fuck-up, but at least we know who  _ has _ the bomb, so I’ll commend you for that.” Cynthia sighed. “In the end, I’m just glad it didn’t get to this man,” she turned on a projection with a photo of the man from the warehouse.

“The Deadliest Man Alive.” Both she and Owen said it at the same time.

Cynthia looked at him in surprise, and then approval. “You know, you’re probably the only one of my agents who actually  _ reads  _ the case file before a mission. Tell me what you’ve learned about him.”

“Well, for starters, I know that he’s killed one thousand, one hundred, forty-eight people.” Owen began. “He’s about one hundred seventy-eight centimeters tall,” when met with Cynthia’s confused face, Owen laughed, remembering that Americans don’t use the same type of measurement, “I believe that’d be about five foot, ten inches. But anyway, he seems to have a penchant for me. He knew who I was and said something about this not being over between the two of us. I’m not sure what he wants, but I intend to find out.”

“Hm. That’s quite a lot more than Cu… than any of my other agents could’ve provided.” Cynthia sighed. “Would you like some coffee, Owen?”

“No, thank you. I’m not much of a coffee person.” 

“Ah, what a shame. My assistant makes some damn good coffee.” Cynthia pressed a button on her intercom, “Susan, I’ll take my coffee now.”

Out of nowhere, a man entered from the shadows of the room. He grabbed Cynthia, holding a gun to her throat.

“Help me, Owen! This man is hurting me!” Cynthia shouted as Owen scrambled for his gun. “This is not a drill you simpleton!” The man set Cynthia down right as Owen cocked his gun. “That was a drill and you failed.”

“What…?” Owen asked, confused.

“A test.” Cynthia answered. She looked over Owen from head to toe. “You really let yourself go during your off-time.”

“Don’t you mean my grieving period?” Owen slid his gun back into his jacket. He almost wanted to keep it out, knowing what subject he was bringing about.

“Oh, we all grieved!” Cynthia shook her head, taking a long drag of her cigarette. “Curt Mega was my best agent. I was overwhelmingly pissed off when he died. But I had to get over it, so I did. Now, I’m sorry that you weren’t as quick to do so, but you’re going to have to let it go. I need you at the top of your game, Carvour.”

“I understand.” Owen nodded. “I’ve heard that this profession gets more dangerous every day I’m gone. I will do my best to end that.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Cynthia grinned. “First things first, however, we’re going to get you sobered up. Bourbon?”

“Yes, thank you.” Owen nodded, receiving a glass from Susan. 

“Owen, I know I’ve been a big ol’ bitch lately, but I’ve got a lot on my plate, y’know? As you know, the World Peace Gala in Geneva is this week. It is the ‘coming out’ party for the new Democratic Republic of old socialist Prussian-Slyviskia. Ah, an American alliance with them would  _ really  _ just  _ fuck  _ the Russians. That is poisoned,” Cynthia pointed at Owen’s glass and continued on, “Anyway, the  _ prince _ of the new Democratic Republic of old- you know what? Fuck it- he’s an inexperienced, inbread, dumbo doofus, and  _ all  _ the great leaders feel the same way. That doesn’t leave this room.”

How could it leave the room if Owen died in it? He supposed he’d just have to wait and listen, because knowing Cynthia, she most likely had the antidote.

“Anyway, the Russian dignitary and I will be  _ bowing  _ at this fickle-fuck’s feet until he decides on a ‘special relationship’. And well, thanks to that little spy friend of yours, the Russians now have the upper hand. Repeat back to me everything I just said.” Cynthia held up the antidote in her hand. 

“Uh, um, er- the- Prussians are morons- we need them- Russia wants them too- fickle-feet, g-gala-” Cynthia gave him the antidote and Owen downed it as fast as he could, gasping for air. “You… you poisoned me!”

“Well, yes, it’s to be sure you’re paying attention. And don’t you worry about it, agent, I’ve been poisoning myself a little bit every day since 1939.” Cynthia sighs. “The point is, you need to stay vigilant Owen. You have to get me that bomb.”

“Yes well,” Owen looked up at her from his chair. He wanted to say something witty back, but decided against it. “You can count on me, my dear.”

“I know I can. But I want you to know that even though I’m hard on you, this is how I help. I care about all my agents and I want them to do their best. To this day, you’re the best goddamn agent the world has ever seen. No one here has ever been such a master of deception and stealth.” She looked at Owen and raised an eyebrow. “Do not prove me wrong, agent. You must keep your eyes on the prize and keep your shit together.”

“Of course.” Owen nodded.

“Oh, and one last thing,” Cynthia said as Owen stood up. She didn’t say anything though. She just shot him. The bullet didn’t pierce him, though. However, it did leave a hole in his shirt and a sudden need to gasp for air.

“Wh-why?” Was all he could ask.

“Hm. Bulletproof vest. Good.” Cynthia set down her gun. 

Owen let out an exasperated sigh and then stood up straight. 

“Go to the lab and get some weapons for your next mission. Barb will give you the casefile.” Cynthia pointed to the door. “Good luck, Carvour.”


	5. Gadgets, Gizmos, and Geeks! Oh My!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owen acquires some tools to help him on his mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Barb. That’s it, that’s this chapter.

Owen entered the lab, his jaw dropping at the sight before him. There were experiments going on all around the room, ranging from simple sleeping pills to fashioning items into guns.

“Ah, Agent Carvour!” Called the voice of a young, female scientist. She was significantly shorter than him, with short blonde hair and black cat-eye glasses. Owen remembered her. She’d had a crush on his Curt.

“Barb Lavernor,” Owen greeted her with a charming smile. In true, albeit old, chivalrous fashion, he placed a kiss on Barb’s hand. “Wonderful to finally meet you in person, my dear.”

A rather girlish giggle escaped Barb’s lips. “And you as well, a-agent.” She smiled. 

“So, I’ve been told that there are some useful gadgets that you’re supposed to provide me with?” Owen inquired. He lowered his voice for a moment. “M16 didn’t have anything like this, so pardon me if I’m a bit excited.”

Barb laughed. “No need to apologize! You can be just as excited as you like. We have all kinds of things here that may spark your interest, agent.”

“Would you happen to have those rocket shoes that Curt was always on about?” Owen asked, eyes shining in excitement.

Barb’s face fell a bit at the mention of Curt. Owen blinked a few times, realizing the implications of what he had said. “Oh, my goodness, my apologies, Miss Lavernor. I forget sometimes that he’s… not here anymore.”

Barb shook her head, “no, no, it’s alright. I just miss him, is all.” She tried on a smile. “And besides, we have better things than rocket shoes, these days.”

“Such as?”

“Well, picture this: the world’s first large scale information and archival system! Totally cool, huh?” Barb grinned, looking up at Owen.

“Hm. That does sound quite interesting. But I’m afraid that I don’t understand much of it.” Owen scratched the back of his neck. 

“You see, if it worked, we’d be able to take down syndicates from the safety of our desks! It would take the guesswork of your job, hopefully saving some lives in the process, including your own!” Barb explained, getting more and more excited. “Can you imagine if such technology existed?”

“I understand the concern for safety, but… just doing computer work doesn’t sound very fun. It sort of takes the thrill out of being a spy.” Owen didn’t want to burst her bubble, but it was true. For him, at least.

“Well, according to my calculations, the future of espionage is in computers!” Barb stopped herself from going on another rant. “Er, well, I’m getting off the subject. I have a presentation prepared for you to show off the items you can choose from!”

“Fire away, my dear.” Owen smiled.

“First of all, we have a watch, but much more amazing. You just flick your wrist and boom,” she pointed her arm toward a wall and a laser shot out from the watch. “Oh! And this pen here, see anything odd?”

“No.”

“Well, press this button and pull this, and it’ll spray acid into your assailant’s face!” 

“That’s amazing!” He went to try it, but Barb stopped him.

“Careful, Owen. If you don’t point it the right direction, it’ll go on  _ your  _ face.” Barb warned. “Moving on, there’s this pair of shoes where you click your heels, and a knife will pop out of the side. Oh! And this suit here?”

“What’s so special about it?” 

“It’s waterproof  _ and  _ fireproof!” Barb grinned.

“Woah! What else have you got?” Owen was starting to get more excited. Perhaps it was Barb’s own excitement, or just boyish glee, but he was practically bouncing at this point.

“This here, it looks like simple chewing gum, right? Well, when you  _ do  _ chew it, it will become a rather dangerous explosive. Plus, it leaves your breath minty fresh!” Barb giggled at the last detail. “These glasses I’m wearing are capable of taking pictures and storing data, it’s rather helpful.”

“Almost like a computer on your face.” Owen laughed. 

“Exactly! And this-” she lifted up a small earbud connected to a flat machine- “it may look like a hearing aid, when in fact it’s a lie detector!”

Several scientists had gathered with items for Owen to pick from. He had some questions, though. “What’s that cane?”

“It’s actually a gun!”

“And that umbrella?”

“As a matter of fact, a gun!”

“Candlestick?”

“It’s a gun.”

“Coffee cup?”

“It’s a  _ gun.” _

“Apple?”

“Gun.”

“Paperclip!”

“Gun.”

“Ah, sandwich, I bet I know what this is, it's a gun.” Owen smiled knowingly.

Barb rolled her eyes, “no, James Bond, that’s just my lunch. Oh, and by the way, what kind do you want for your trip?”

“P-pardon?”

“What kind of sandwiches?”

“Oh, um… I suppose just good old peanut butter and jelly will suffice.” Owen shrugged.

“Ah good! That’s what I packed for you, so it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.” Barb said as she handed Owen a duffel bag. “It’s been packed with all the essentials; poison dart rings, zip-line belts, cloaking underwear, regular underwear, clothes, and of course, the sandwiches.”

Owen smiled, “thank you, Miss Lavernor.”

“Of course! And don’t forget, if you get into any trouble, I’ll be staying just a few miles away from the hotel. In a fishing boat. No travel budget.” Barb had lost her excited spark suddenly, and Owen felt bad for her.

“Oh, that sounds dreadful!” He frowned, “why don’t they let you stay in the hotel?”

“That’s just how it goes for us scientists; we’re just here to provide you with equipment and information, nothing more.” Barb shrugged.

“You ought to tell Cynthia to treat you all better! I mean, look at all the things you do for us, and you don’t even get a nice place to stay?! That’s outrageous!” Owen put his hands on his hips.

“I agree, but I don’t have a say.” Barb sighed. “No matter, you need to get going, Agent Carvour!”

Owen nodded slowly. “Alright. I’ll see if I can do anything about your situation, my dear.” He started for the door, but turned around. “Oh, and Barb?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.” Owen winked before leaving.

“B-bye!” Barb called after him, letting out a dreamy sigh.

“Oh come on now, Lavernor! Don’t tell me you’re getting a crush on him.” Said one of the other scientists. “You get a crush on every debonair spy that walks through that door!”

“Oh hush, Irene!” Barb huffed, crossing her arms. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She didn’t just suddenly develop a crush on those spies, but Owen? It wasn’t exactly a crush, more like… admiration. He actually acknowledged her presence and listened to what she had to say. That just made her happy. She was excited to work with him.


	6. All Bets Are Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owen goes to retrieve the bomb, but memories, and our favorite Russian spy, stand in the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about not updating for a while, I had some mad writer’s block

In the casino, the church of sin, there’s fabulous money to waste. Cards, liquor, and gambling galore, all just begging to be exploited. Tuxedos. Fur coats. Diamond rings. There were thousands of rich people abound; all greedy, never satisfied. It’s a shame that the house  _ always _ wins…

_ Keep your eyes on the prize, Owen. _ The agent repeated in his head.  _ Cynthia’s counting on you. _

Lying is commonplace in the casino. Identities, hands, smiles– all are deceiving, but the thrill of winning is so intoxicating that no one seems to care. From rags to riches, from riches to rags; one hand could change your life. Fortunes are made, but lost just as fast. Don’t be the one that cries…

_ Focus, Carvour!  _ Owen straightened his bowtie.  _ Don’t give in. _

But no matter what he told himself, or how much he tried to distract his thoughts, images of Curt penetrated his mind. 

Berlin. The case from Berlin. It had started in a casino, hadn’t it? Yes… Owen remembered it now. Curt hadn’t been feeling well that day when they went to collect information. Owen practically had to drag him back to their room. It was funny, really… until the image of Curt falling replaced it all, sending a stinging pain into Owen’s tear ducts.

“ _ Fuck…”  _ Owen whispered. “C’mon, Carvour, pull yourself together.” He looked up at the mirror in the restroom. “You can do this. Just get the bomb, and get out.”

Owen made his way through the casino, scouring the crowd for the informant from Budapest. He finally found him at the high-roll table… as the dealer. 

“The man would like to try his chances, yes?” The informant grinned at him.

“Cut the act.” Owen sighed. “I have to recover a deadly bomb from that woman’s room.” He gestured to the room where the red-headed woman emerged from. “The only way I can do that is if I can charm her. So please, it’d be wonderful if you’d assist me?”

“But of course, sir.” The informant nodded. “Do remember, the house always has the advantage.” He winked.

Owen smiled as a thank you.

“Is this spot taken?” Asked the woman, gesturing to the seat next to Owen.

The agent was about to respond, but the informant spoke up. “Yes!”

Owen shot him a look, but took the opportunity to say, “yes, by you.” 

“Thank you.” She said. She took out a cigarette, which Owen offered to light. “Oh, thank you again.”

“Do you mind? This is a non-smoking table.” The informant raised an eyebrow at them. “And, I have lung cancer.”

The two looked at each other and shrugged. The woman put away her cigarette, apologizing. “Well, perhaps a drink, then?”

“A splendid idea, my dear.” Owen nodded. “Excuse me, ma’am?” He asked a waitress. 

“Ah, I’m sorry, this isn’t my section, but you know what? I’ll make an exception since there’s just two of you.” She took out her notepad and pen. “What can I get you guys?”

“Vodka martini, bone dry.” The woman answered.

“I’ll take a white russian, please.” Owen leaned over and whispered: “hold the vodka please, thank you so much, I’m off it.”

“Excellent choice. So that’s one vodka martini, bone dry, and one glass of cream, coming up!” The waitress nodded, heading toward the bar to get the drinks. 

“Hold your horses!” A man with a Texan accent strolled over. “Make sure you add an ice cold Budweiser to that order, sugar-shitter.” He laughed, looking down at the pair at their stools. He was adorned in heavily southern American attire, cowboy hat and all. 

“Well, pardon the interruption, but when I see a lone wolf like yourself over here at the high-roll table–” the American rested his arm on Owen’s shoulder, to which Owen stared at– “I figure he’s in dire need of a wingman.

_ Here we go.  _ Owen thought to himself. He looked at the Russian woman with an eye roll that said “ _ Americans. _ ” She must’ve understood because she smiled, maybe even laughed. “I’m hardly alone, my good sir. This woman and I were just about to–”

“Oh, and a little redcoat! Well, well, well, isn’t that somethin’?” The American smiled. “Let me introduce myself. My name's Richard Big, but my friends call me Dick.” He tipped his hat at the Russian woman and winked. She looked at Owen, showing her obvious disgust as Richard went to grab a chair. He nodded, understanding.

It reminded him of one time he and Curt went to a bar together after a mission in France. There had been a heavily drunken man with a thick French accent that flirted with him. He remembered how jealous and flustered Curt had been, which made him laugh. But this was nothing like that. And now he was thinking about Curt again without meaning to.

Thankfully, the waitress brought over their drinks just then. “Perhaps a toast to… friendship? is in order?” The Russian woman asked.

Owen nodded. “Excellent idea, my dear. I have one if you wouldn’t mind?” She nodded. “ _ Vashee nostrovia. _ ”

“Oh! No, no, no! Cut out that commie bullshit right now!” Richard practically shouted. Both Owen and the Russian woman looked at him, confused and a bit disgruntled. “I got a good red, white, ’n blue for ya.” He stood up, raising his glass. “To honor. Hittin’ on her, gettin’ on her, stayin’ on her, and if you can’t come in her, come on her, God bless America!” He downed half of his beer in one swig.

Owen and the woman sat there for a moment, both uncomfortable and unsure of what to do. Eventually, she looked at Owen and raised her glass, “ _ Nostrovia. _ ” They both took small sips of their drinks, still unsure.

They turned their attention to the croupier, informant to Owen, who was beginning their game. “The big blind is to you, sir. Ladies and gentlemen, the game is called blackjack, I suggest you hit.”

“Alright, chap, then hit me.” Owen smiled. The informant slid a gun to Owen when Richard and the woman weren’t looking. “Actually, I’ll stay.”

“Alright then.” The informant grinned. “Sir?” He asked Richard.

Richard gave a look of cockiness to the woman, then looked at the cards. “Mmmm, I’d better stay.”

“ _ Madame _ ?” The informant asked.

She looked at her cards then back up, about to speak, when Richard leaned over to her. “Oh, now, if you’re havin’ any trouble bettin’, there ain’t no shame in havin’ a man help you out a little bit, Miss Gingerpuss.” 

Owen watched with raised eyebrows and a concerned frown. He wanted to step in, but the woman just smiled.

“I’m quite confident in my skills.” She lifted a hand to Richard’s face. “I don’t know if the same could be said about you, Mister… how you say?  _ Needle-Dick. _ ” She pushed him away. Owen pressed his lips together to repress a laugh. 

“Ouch! That one burned!” Richard laughed. He leaned over to Owen, “Oh, boy! This kitty’s got claws!” He gestured to the woman, who was raising an eyebrow now. I bet you back her into a corner and ya get scratched. Boy, you are not gettin’ anywhere near her tonight!”

“Don’t plan to, my friend.” Owen smiled slightly. Richard tilted his head, looking a bit confused. Confusing heterosexuals, that was Owen’s favorite thing to do.

Meanwhile, the woman’s attention was to the game. “Hit. Hit. Hit. Hit. Stay, 21.” The informant looked nervous now.

“Very nice.” He said softly. “Okay, dealer. Two and, two, makes… twenty-two. Dealer bust, congratulations to the madame.” 

“Well, er,  _ Dick _ , it’s been a pleasure, but I believe the woman I would like some time to ourselves so…” Owen gestured to the Russian woman.

“Oh, ho, ho.  _ Hell _ no!” Richard laughed. “Boy, you are heatin’ up. I wouldn’t be a very smart man if I didn’t ride your coattails all the all way to the bank tonight. Which reminds me, I’ll get the next round,” he elbowed Owen, “on your tab!”

As Richard went to find a waiter, Owen looked at the woman. “It’s funny,” he began, “What are the chances of you and I running into each other here?”

“It’s funny, I don’t believe in chance.” She smiled softly. 

Richard suddenly appeared behind Owen, “Well, aren’t you two gettin’ cozy?”

Owen was about to tell him to fuck off, when the informant announced the next game: roulette.

And Richard accidentally bumped his elbowed against Owen’s gun.

“My my my. What is this I detect nestled snugly above your sacrum?” Richard frowned.

Owen cleared his throat, turning his attention to the informant and the game. “Please spin.”

“Boy, it makes me so proud to know that I am standing next to a second-amendment followin’ Brit like yourself.

“Red or black?” The informant asked.

“And so far from home…” Richard tilted his head.

“Red!” Owen looked at the informant with panic in his eyes.

“Hey y’all!” 

“Are all bets in?” The informant asked.

“This boy’s packin’ heat!” 

“Yes, we’re all in!” Owen’s hands started to shake.

“All in, marvelous!” The informant spun the wheel, taking Richard’s attention away from Owen’s gun.

“Oh, fifteen black. How unfortunate, the monsieur is a big fat loser!” The informant grinned.

Owen’s anxiety was bubbling over, so he didn’t even realize he had grabbed the collar of the informant’s shirt until after a waiter pulled Owen off of him and threatened to throw him out of the casino.

“Woah, woah, woah, woah,  _ woah! _ ” Richard shouted. “Never in my wildest nightmares did I figure that I would be associated with a man who couldn’t keep his cool under pressure, Mr.– I don’t seem to have caught your name.”

“Funny, I didn’t throw it.” Owen scowled.

“Carvour. His name is Owen Carvour.” The woman spoke up, absentmindedly fiddling with the napkin in her hand. 

“Well, Mr.  _ Owen Carvour,  _ sounds pretty  _ queer  _ to me.” Richard hissed. Owen’s eyes widened slightly. “But anyway, you need to learn to respect the people around you!” Frankly, I don’t feel safe. How dare you bring your  _ baggage _ into this palace of joyous frivolity, flowing libations, and friendship? Or so I thought. But you are not my friend!” Richard pointed at Owen, practically screaming now. “Nay, you are friend of  _ no _ man here! So I find myself in the unfortunate position of having to say: Good ev’nin’ to the lady,” he tipped his hat to the woman, “and to you, sir, you burn in the fiery pits of Lucifer’s hell, good  _ night!” _ He stormed out.

Owen opened his mouth the speak, but no sound came out. He looked at the woman sheepishly. “My apologies, miss. I’m unsure of what came over me. But before I’ve lost every shred of my dignity, shall we take our leave?” He offered his hand to her.

“I thought you’d never ask.” She nodded, taking his hand. “Let us find someplace a little more, how you say, private? Where we can– how you say, build you back– how you say, up.” She smiled suggestively. 

“I…” Owen looked down at her, frowning a little. “I believe you may have the wrong id–” 

“Shh… just go along with it.” She whispered. Owen raised an eyebrow, to which she nodded once in understanding.

They began to head for the elevator, when a man on the staff stopped them. “Sir, your bill this evening comes to twenty-five thousand francs.”

“What?” Owen was taken aback. “That’s- that’s impossible!”

“No, it’s not. Those imported Budweisers you ordered were nine hundred francs a piece.” 

“Can I write you a check?”

“Sure, money’s money. Hi.” The waiter waved to the woman.

“Hello.” She smiled.

Owen signed a check and handed it to the waiter, who put it into the system. “I’m sorry sir, this bounced.”

The woman laughed softly as Owen got frustrated. “You can charge the bill to my room. That’s our next stop.”

“My pleasure, ma’am.” The waiter nodded as Owen and the woman entered the elevator.

Once they were inside and the door was closed, the woman looked up at Owen. “We don’t have much time. I am not working for my country. The Russians do not know of my whereabouts, and if they did, I suspect they’d kill me.”

“You’re  _ not _ working for the Russians?” Owen looked at her in surprise

“You might call me an independent contractor. You might also call me Tatiana.” She offered a hand for him to shake.

“Tatiana?” He shook her hand. “Lovely to finally meet you under more pleasant circumstances.”

“Tell your bosses that the bomb is far from Russian hands and will remain so.” 

“Splendid! This has been unbelievably simple to sort out.”

“Perhaps we can work out an arrangement that’s mutually beneficial?” 

“Hm. That’ll be difficult; I work alone.”

“You know…” Tatiana looked up at him with a quizzical expression, “from the first time I saw you, I could tell that beneath your bravado and disheveled exterior, you are indeed alone. Like me.”

Owen shifted uncomfortably. “So where do we go from here?”

Tatiana smiled. “You can have the bomb, but you’ll have to take it. By force.”

“I’m afraid that didn’t go so well for me last time.” Owen tilted his head. 

“I want to offer you a rematch.”

“Well, when you put it that way…” 

“I do. Put. It. That. Way.” With every word, she took a step closer.

“Tatiana, I…” Owen stood there like a deer in headlights, unsure of what he was supposed to do. He decided to just say something now, so he wouldn’t lead her on. “I am not interested in women.” It came out as barely a whisper. 

Tatiana pretended to look surprised, before smiling. “I know.” Owen’s jaw dropped, to which Tatiana laughed. “I could tell right away. I was just making sure.” 

“Please don’t tell anyone.” Owen pleaded.

“I promise.” She nodded.

The elevator dinged just then, and the two exited. But as they went to the room, Tatiana froze. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for, my dear.” Owen smiled reassuringly, but her expression didn’t change.

“Yes. I do.” She whispered as she opened the door. From behind the door, came the Deadliest Man Alive. 

And he had a gun.

Pointed straight at Owen’s head.


	7. Did Nazi that One Coming!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owen has been captured by the villainous Baron von Nazi! How will he escape when a song, and someone’s eyes, make it difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry this took so long! I was doing a lot of school in the past few weeks, but school’s over now and I’ll be able to update more often!

“Well, well, well, Agent Owen Carvour,” said a man with a German accent, “I have heard so much about you and now we finally meet face to face.”

Baron Von Nazi. Owen had heard of him. He’d seen pictures of him before. But now that he was here, face to face with him, he was less intimidating. He looked very confident, but something about him just made him so non-threatening. 

“I’m in charge here, Carvour.” Von Nazi imposed, leaning over Owen.

Owen shook his head, “you’re insane.” He looked over Von Nazi’s shoulder to Tatiana. “And you’re not so bright yourself, working for this maniac.”

Tatiana looked so horribly grief-stricken that Owen immediately felt like an asshole for saying that. “We all have our reasons.” She sounded as helpless as Owen felt.

“Don’t get involved, love.” The DMA warned.  


_ Saying ‘love’ is my thing. _ Owen pouted in his head.

“The chips are stacked in my favor.” Von Nazi smiled. “Get it? Because you started out the night with a lot of chips, and then you lost them. And now, I have them all, metaphorically!”

“Listen, von Nazi, whatever your plan is, it’s going to fail. That is, if history repeats itself, and it will. The nazis are the most notorious villains of all time!” Owen snapped.

“Villains, really? Villains?!” Von Nazi shouted. “Take a look at the state of Germany after two world wars. We’re divided in half, forced to pay reparations. We’re the ones being punished! The  _ Russians _ ,” he paused to point at Tatiana, “are the villains. And the Americans are even worse! The Nazis, well…” 

“Oh god, here comes the dramatic backstory…” the DMA grumbled.

“Is this  _ really  _ happening right now?” Owen asked, looking at Tatiana, who nodded.

“Ever since the Second World War, it’s like everyone’s still so sore!” Von Nazi began.

“Oh, don’t tell me it’s the song version again…” the DMA rolled his eyes.

“ _ Song version?”  _ Owen hissed.

“ _ After what happened…  _

_ but don’t judge a book, _

_ just on it’s look.  _

_ The inside must be examined! _

_ Sure, we’ve made some mistakes,  _

_ from small ones to great,  _

_ but did everyone have to get so mad? _ ” 

  
The other three in the room just looked mildly confused.

“ _ Here’s my verdict: no one’s perfect.  _

_ Perhaps the Nazis aren’t so bad…? _

Ein, zwei, drei! 

_ People say we got a bit lost,  _

_ this whole holocaust,  _

_ but the Nazis are not so bad!  _

_ They made such a fuss,  _

_ but they don’t know us!  _

_ The Nazis are not so bad! _

_ We love to laugh and smile, _

_ We love to shout SIEG HEIL! _

_ But no one understands. _

_ We’ve got style, we’ve got grace, _

_ We’ve got the master race! _

_ Nazis are not so bad! _

“In fact the Nazis are quite good!” Von Nazi announced. “Henchman!” Four young, blonde children in Nazi uniforms enter the room.  _ Children _ . They introduced themselves as Gretel, Hans, Heidi, and Wernher Von Braun.

“ _ The first road to drive upon _

_ Was created by Nazis, the Autobahn!”  _

_ “It’s unhealthy, all your choking, _

_ The Nazis were very anti-smoking!” _

_ “The father of rockets was Nazi too!” _

_ “I changed the world! What’d you do?” _

_ “Volkswagen and Hugo Boss. _

_ Adidas and Puma and the Swastika. _

_ Nazis aren’t so bad,  _

_ We’re not so bad,  _

_ We’re not so bad, _

_ We’re not so-” _

_“_ What about genocide?!” Owen shouted.

Von Nazi smacked the back of his head, “shut up!” He began to sing again, but Owen stopped paying attention. He didn’t care anymore.

He looked at Tatiana again. She had tears in her eyes and was blinking rapidly to keep them at bay. Owen couldn't help feeling bad. When she looked up a little, Owen caught her eye and gave her an apologetic look. 

He shouldn’t have said what he said. He tried to mouth a ‘help’ to her, but when he caught the DMA’s gaze and froze. It was probably wise to not speak, but what was he supposed to do?

Wait,  _ gaze _ ? It wasn’t quite a stare, but it wasn’t a daydreamy sort of gaze either. It was somewhere in between, and that was… rather unsettling. The DMA looked at him with eyes that knew him. And not just like he knew who Owen was, but like he knew him on an emotional and personal level. But by that gaze… Owen couldn’t tell if it was memories, or anger, or both...

There was some sort of longing that was there. But Owen noticed that every time there was longing, the DMA mentally slapped himself and those eyes went angry again. Those eyes… they were familiar. Owen couldn’t pinpoint where, but…  _ ugh!  _ Where was his mind?! He needed to focus on how to escape. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I threw in the song because I was bored


	8. Time to Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owen must escape, but how? There’s so many obstacles, and there’s so much... blood. (Tw: blood, obviously.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at you guys, you get two updates in one day!

“This is all just some sick, ludicrous joke, isn’t it?” Owen grumbled.

“With a man like him, it’s never a joke, Carvour.” The DMA sighed.

One of the children stepped up, “seems his noggin’s a bit dense!” She grinned, thinking she was helping.

Before anyone could react, the DMA pulled out a knife and stabbed her in the gut, “I can speak for myself, thank you very  _ much. _ ”

She stumbled out of the room, and one of the others followed her. 

Baron Von Nazi sighed, “long musical number short, I am rebuilding the Nazi empire in a new nation.”

“What country could possibly be stupid enough to let you goose step your way across their borders and plant your Nazi flag?!” Owen spit.

The Nazi turned to Owen, a smug smile on his lips, “Perhaps your dear director, Cynthia Houston, can answer that!”

Somewhere around them, came Cynthia’s voice, but metallic-y.  _ A recording.  _ It was what she said three days ago in her office, about the prince.

“What… how did you…” Owen stuttered. 

Von Nazi smiled. “A little birdie told me.” 

“That little birdie being an advanced network of information surveillance that we’ve been developing.” The DMA explained. 

“Now that I am privy to the little secrets world leaders say behind each other’s backs, I plan to use it to my advantage at the World Peace Gala in Geneva! Tomorrow night, the Deadliest Man will kidnap the idiot prince, and hold him ransom, with the added threat of blowing up their nation’s capital with the bomb stolen by our dear Tatiana.” The Nazi laughed.

Tatiana was shaking now. “ _ My god _ …” she whispered. 

“When none of the great powers come to his aid,  _ I _ will sweep in and offer a helping hand.” Von Nazi straightened his tie. “It is then that I will rise as the new  _ Führer _ !” The children applauded and cheered. 

“Sir, don’t forget about your advanced Nazi super castle!” The DMA smiled smugly.

“Yes! Yes, right! Even if we don’t blow up the capital, they’re going to build a new one!” Von Nazi leaned down to Owen’s ear. “With a castle. On a special plot of land, picked out by the Deadliest Man himself.”

“Very best bit of soil there is.” The DMA chimed. “Perfect for rebuilding an empire, sir.”

One of the remaining children stepped up, “it’s also rich in natural minerals, like Silic–” he stopped when he saw the DMA pulling out a machete. He stopped still and accepted his fate of being stabbed. He left, and now there was one child remaining.

“This guy sure is a powder-keg, huh?” Von Nazi grinned. “Good thing he’s working for me.”

Owen looked at Tatiana, hoping to at least say one last thing that might help him escape. “Don’t trust him, Tatiana. He–!” 

Von Nazi clamped a hand over Owen’s mouth. “No! No! You’re not getting in her head this time, Carvour.” He grabbed Tatiana’s arm. “She’s my girlfriend now.”

“No I’m not.” Tatiana looked as if she was trying not to groan in disgust.

“Who knows? I’ve had you under my thumb for this long!” Von Nazi let go of her and waltzed off.

“I thought I was free after this was over!” Tatiana shouted, following him quickly.

The Nazi cut her off by giving instructions to prepare his bed chambers to the last child. He turned back to Tatiana. “Prepare the bomb for transport.” Lastly, he looked at the DMA. “Mr. Deadliest Man, please show our guest to his  _ death _ .” And he left, going on about a cheeseburger. Tatiana had to leave too, shooting one last worried look at Owen. He nodded as an “ _ I’ll be okay.” _

The DMA laughed softly, “ah, you really know how to get into people’s heads, Carvour. But!” He moved Owen’s chair further into the light. “It ain’t gonna do you no good.” He leaned down to Owen’s ear. “No gettin’ in here.” He pointed to his own forehead. “I’m a steel trap of secrets that would blow your  _ fucking  _ mind.”

Owen looked at the floor, refusing to give him the satisfaction of eye-contact. He knew how torturing went. It was always like this. Banter. Pain. Eye-contact. More pain. He hated it.

“Well, you’re not gonna just slip by with your cool and collected demeanor this time, I’ll see to that. But, before I chop you up into my carry-on luggage…” the DMA held a pair of pliers. “I’m gonna torture the living shite out of ya. I’ve been waiting for the moment for  _ years,  _ Carvour. And wouldn’t you know it, you’re finally here in front of me!” He leaned close to Owen’s ear again. “If you’re hurting, do please show it! Crying is welcome, even!” 

Owen shut his eyes as the DMA spun his chair around. “So sit back, relax, and enjoy the show! I’ve quite the evening planned, agent.” He stopped the chair and yanked Owen’s mouth open. He shoved the pliers into his mouth and pulled on a molar. Searing pain shot through Owen’s body and he screamed. The DMA kept twisting and  _ twisting  _ until he finally got the tooth out. When he did, Owen’s mouth filled with blood, and his eyes filled with tears. 

Owen slouched forward, spitting blood onto the floor and groaning. His vision swam and his knees would’ve buckled if he wasn’t sitting down. His face was numb, but his nervous system was white hot. He wasn’t even listening anymore.

The DMA pulled out an electric box with a cut wire coming out of it. He electrocuted Owen’s body several times. To which, the agent lost hope of escape with each and every shock.

When the DMA finally threw the device aside, Owen sighed in relief. “Why don't you just kill me already, you bastard!” 

The DMA laughed. “This is fun, can’t you tell?” He cracked his knuckles and placed his hands on either side of Owen’s head, applying pressure. Owen grunted and broke free of it, leaning forward. 

_ Why did I think I could be a spy again?  _ Owen thought miserably, tears and sweat soaking his face.  _ At least I tried… but how the hell am I supposed to get out of this? _

The DMA wrapped a chain around Owen's neck and pulled, choking the agent. Black spots danced across his vision with every tug. 

“Surrender!” The DMA shouted to Owen’s resistance. 

“Never!” Owen spat, blood dripping out of his mouth again. 

The DMA shouted in anger and pulled out a machete. He put it to Owen’s throat and was about to slice when someone shouted  _ “Take this!”  _ and hit the DMA over the head with a gun.

_“_ Tatiana?!” Owen spluttered. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Saving you.” She undid Owen’s restraints. 

“Why?” Owen stood, rubbing his wrists. 

“He blackmailed me! My family! I’ll explain later!” Tatiana pointed to the door. “We need to go before he wakes up!”

“Right. Yes. Thank you, Tatiana.” Owen nodded. “Just um… can you help me walk? I-I don’t know if I can.”

She nodded and offered a hand. Without thinking, Owen grabbed the middle of her arm.  _ His and Curt’s old handshake.  _

Tears struck his eyes again.  _ Curt…  _ he thought, sobs bubbling to the surface. He saw his lover’s face. Heard his voice. Felt his hand in his. The years of grief flooded him. His body was suddenly racked with sobs, and he was shaking. 

“Owen!” Tatiana exclaimed worriedly. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.” She wrapped an arm around his shoulders. But before they could get anywhere, the DMA sat up and shot Owen in his stomach. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Torture Tango is the best song in the soundtrack, fight me.


	9. A Royal Pain in the A.S.S.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owen tries to warn everyone about the DMA’s plan, but it seems no one cares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry this took so long! I got super busy and had m a d writer’s block. I will try to post more and better chapters as soon as I can! (I didn’t really like how this one turned out)
> 
> Trigger warning:  
> \- blood mention  
> \- gunshot

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, dukes and dames, princes and princesses, diplomats and heads of state. And a very  _ special  _ hello to the citizens of our wonderful, beautiful country: the New Democratic Republic of Old Socialist Prussian Slovakia! Give yourselves a hand!” Announced a man with blonde hair and a microphone. “I’m famed radio and television personality, Vanger Borschtit.”

There was one cheer from one person in the ballroom. “Thank you!” Vanger exclaimed. “That guy knows what’s up.” He went on, starting off the gala. Eventually, there were people on the dance floor.

Vanger went on and interviewed Cynthia Houston. Her smile looked forced. Vanger asked her what she thought of the prince. She said: “he’s qualified and dignified, of course. My department is truly behind him.” 

“Of course!” Vanger laughed, flitting off. He interviewed a few more world leaders after that. But the prince came out eventually. Vanger introduced him to the gala. 

There was more dancing, until finally:

“Cynthia!” Owen called, running through the hall. 

“Owen? What the hell are you doing here?!” Cynthia asked, “what’s with the blood?”

*****

“Owen!” Barb had helped him sit down in an elevator.

“Oh god, the maniac is going to crash the most important political event of the decade and I’m…” Owen sighed, “stuck here, bleeding, in a fucking elevator.”

“We need to get you to a hospital!” Barb insisted.

Owen shook his head, “no time. I need to get to Geneva. We can bring a doctor on the plane, if you really want, but I need to  _ go.”  _

*****

“So what do you need  _ me _ for?” Cynthia asked.

“We need to save the prince! He’s going to get kidnapped and held for ransom, Cynthia.” Owen’s eyes pleaded for her to cooperate.

“Good riddance! The prince is a fucking Looney Tune.” Cynthia shook her head.

“That's exactly what the Deadliest Man and Von Nazi want you to think!” Owen tried.

*****

“Owen, you could jeopardize your life and your career! Please just–!”

“Uh… this is my floor” said a man with a hat and glasses. He sped out of the elevator, shooting a wary glance at Barb and Owen.

“Look, Barb…. I was… I am… I’m  _ supposed  _ to be the best. Someone has to save the world, and I believe our team is the only one willing to do it.” He and Barb finally reached the bottom floor, and left the elevator quickly, headed straight for the airport.

“I’ve got your back!” Barb had said.

Owen smiled, “thank you, Miss Lavernor.”

*****

“Owen, I won’t help you. I don’t care about the stupid fucking prince!” Cynthia grumbled. She straightened up a bit. “Well, I’m going to go back to schmoozing and manipulating governments, if you’ll excuse me~”

Owen sighed in defeat. He knew from years of experience that when Cynthia made up her mind on something, that was it. There would be no persuading her now. But he saw the Russian dignitary, Vladamir Putin. So he decided to ask him for help.

“Diplomat Putin!” Owen smiled at him in his gentlemanly manor. “I am in need of some assistance.”

“Yes?” Putin tilted his head, raising an eyebrow.

“There is a plot by the Nazis to kidnap the prince, and I know if we act quickly, we can–”

“Oh, the prince is an idiot!” Putin brushed him off.

Owen sighed as the diplomat walked off. He saw the tv host and got an idea. He asked if he could use the microphone to make an announcement, and Vanger agreed. Owen cleared his throat, standing up on the stage. “Pardon me, everyone, but I’m afraid I’ve some horrible news.”

The music stopped, and everyone’s eyes were suddenly on Owen. That made him nervous. He had never liked crowds. He took a deep breath. “I… I have discovered that there is a plot to kidnap the prince and hold him for ransom. We must get him to safety before–”

He was stopped by the sound of a gunshot and a scream. Before he had registered what happened, Vanger grabbed the microphone back and started sobbing into it about how the prince was dead. 

_ No… this can’t be happening… they… they changed their plan!? _ Owen thought to himself in disbelief and horror.  _ Oh god. It’s my fault the prince is dead… _

“Owen!” Shouted a familiar voice. Owen looked up to see a flash of red hair through the tears blurring his vision.

“Tatiana… wh-what are you doing here?” Owen asked, voice shaking.

“I’m going to get you out of here. Do you have a safe house somewhere?” Tatiana helped him up and they started for the exit.

“I-it isn’t mine, but there is one no one else knows about.” Owen nodded as the two reached their car outside. He ran his sleeve over his eyes to get rid of his tears.

“Oh, Owen, do not cry. Everything will be fine.”

“But… but I ruined everything. I got the prince  _ killed. _ ”

“Yes…” Tatiana nodded slowly, “you did do that. But there is nothing you can change now, so we must get you to safety. Now, tell me where the safehouse is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be prepared for sad Ms. Mega next time!


	10. This is a Safe Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owen and Tati visit Curt’s old safe house, and the pair learn some things about each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg so this was my favorite chapter to write. Shoutout to my friend, Fe, for letting me use their nickname headcanon of “My Apollo”!

“Now… I haven’t been here in almost five years, so I’m not even sure if she still lives here.” Owen mentioned as he knocked on the door.

“Who?” Tatiana tilted her head.

Owen took a deep breath at the sound of the door being unlocked, “Curt’s mother.” 

The door opened, revealing a woman with dark hair and bright eyes, not unlike her son. In fact, her eyes were  _ so  _ similar to Curt’s, that it broke Owen’s heart all over again. 

“Well now, Mistah Owen Carvour,” Ms. Mega smiled. “It’s been years! Come in! Come in!”

“How have you been, Ms. Mega?” Owen asked, trying not to look at the photos of Curt on the wall. 

“Oh never mind about me, tell me how you’ve been, honey.” Ms. Mega gestured to the sofa in her sitting room. “And who’s your friend?”

“Tatiana.” Said the red-haired woman. She extended a hand to Ms. Mega to shake, who in turn, hugged her. Tatiana stood stiffly for a moment, but then patted Ms. Mega’s back. 

“So good to meet you, Tati.” Ms. Mega said when she let go. “How did you know Curtis?”

“Oh… I didn’t. I am a friend of Owen’s,” Tatiana clarified.

“Ah, I see!” Ms. Mega nodded, turning back to Owen. “So, Owen, what brings you two here?”

“Well…” Owen bit his lip, unsure if he should tell her the truth or not. He finally just sighed a little and explained the whole story. This was Curt’s mother, after all; she was sure to understand.

“Goodness,” Ms. Mega chuckled, “you’ve had quite the week, haven’t you! Well, I’ll let you rest up. Would you two like anything to eat?”

“No, thank you.” Tatiana shook her head, and Owen agreed. Ms. Mega nodded, leaving for the kitchen anyway. 

“Wow… I forgot how unlike Curt she is, despite the eyes.” Owen chuckled himself, remembering how Curt would always get whenever his mother would come in. 

“What was he like, your Curt?” Tatiana asked gently.

Owen smiled sadly, “he was my Apollo.” Tears welled in his eyes.

“How do you mean?”

Owen’s eyes became wistful, “The fire inside of Curt was as powerful as the sun. He was always so bold, and his eyes were so full of excitement. He used to tease me, asking if that made me his Icarus. He was ready for everything, until…” Owen swallowed a lump in his throat. “Until he wasn’t. The day he fell was the day my world went dark.”

“You said before that he fell off of a staircase?” Tatiana asked, taking Owen’s hand as reassurance.

Owen nodded. “I had gotten us lost and we ran out of time for the bomb. We had just seconds, when Curt slipped on the steps. I didn’t have enough reaction time to help him. He… he fell two stories. I heard the impact. I can  _ still  _ hear the impact. I couldn’t go get his body, there was no time. So I left.” 

“Oh, Owen…”

“He probably would have lived if I could’ve gotten his body.”

“Owen, he fell two stories. I doubt he survived that.”

“I know, I just… I wish that things had happened differently.”

“I know exactly what you mean.”

“You do?” Owen looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “Did you lose someone important?”

“In a way, yes.” Tatiana nodded. “I did not lose them to death, but it is as if I did. When I was a little girl, I was taken by the KGB. They taught me how to fight. How to  _ kill.  _ And they took me from my family. By the age of thirteen, I was the deadliest member of their little army. But eventually, it became too much. I fled the country. I had to leave my family behind without contact.”

“Let me guess, Von Nazi promised you a way to get them back?” Owen asked.

“For a price. He now has my entire history in his back pocket. If that information fell into the wrong hands, well… let’s just say that I would most likely never see my family again.” Tatiana wrapped her jacket tightly around herself. “I’m always going to be trapped by that, aren’t I?”

“Not if I can help it.” Owen looked at her with determined eyes. “I swear, I  _ will _ help you get back to them.”

Tatiana smiled sympathetically, “Thank you, and I wish I could do the same for you.” 

“I may not be able to get Curt back, that’s true. But I’m not going to let the same thing happen to anyone else.” Owen swore. 

“Tell me more about him.” Tatiana asked, eyes shining with interest.

“Well, as I said, he was bold. And very full of pride. At least in front of other people he was. When it was just us, he lost the big-shot exterior, and became so very sweet. He gave the best hugs. And he wasn’t the worst kisser, either.” He chuckled, blushing at the memory of their first kiss. 

“ _ Ooo _ , quite the charmer, aren’t you, Carvour?” Tatiana laughed softly, elbowing him.

Owen pushed her arm away, laughing too. “No, he was always the charming one. He said I was the pretty one.”

“My partner used to say that about me.”

“Your… partner? You had one?” 

“Yes. She was my best friend when we were little girls in the regime. We had cots right next to each other. She and I were inseparable, and worked so well together.” Tatiana looked down at her hands.

“What was her name?” 

“Natasha.” She smiled, “and she was  _ beautiful. _ ”

Owen blinked in disbelief, “oh, you’re–”

“Yes.” Tatiana nodded. “You can imagine my surprise when I found out you were as well.” 

“Well… I’m glad that we found each other and can be friends.” Owen smiled, offering a hand for her to shake.

Tatiana took it and smiled as well. “I could not agree more.”

*****

That night, Owen had a dream about himself and Curt. Well, it was more of a memory than a dream.

“Owen!” Curt had shouted, warning him of the man with a knife. 

It was too late though, Owen didn’t have enough reaction time to avoid the knife. However, instead of going the knife into his stomach, he was only slashed across the back. Owen shouted in pain, sinking to the floor. Before he blacked out, he heard a gunshot, and Curt’s gentle voice saying “don’t worry, baby, I’ll get you out of here. Just hold on a little longer.”

Owen woke up the next morning, sleeping on his side. Curt had evidently patched up the cut on his back, but Owen couldn’t remember if he had been awake for it.

When he saw Curt laying next to him, he shifted over and hugged him from behind. Apparently, that woke Curt up, because he turned over and held Owen in his arms. “Good morning, baby. How’s your cut?”

“Feeling much better, thank you darling.” Owen smiled softly, pressing a kiss to Curt’s cheek that made Curt giggle sleepily.

He suddenly stopped, raising his hand up to Owen’s face and moving his usually slicked-back hair out of his eyes. “ _ God,  _ I wish I could marry you.”

Owen raised himself up onto his elbow, “Let’s do it. Right now.”

Curt’s eyes widened a little, suddenly awake. “What?”

Owen got up, reaching into the pocket of his jacket. He came back to the bed with a palm-sized box. 

Curt gasped. “O-Owen?!”

Owen smiled, taking Curt’s hand. “I was going to save this for a good opportunity, but I can’t wait any longer. So Curt, if you’ll have me, would you like to get married right here and now?” 

Tears welled up in Curt’s eyes. “Yes!!” He cupped Owen’s face and kissed him so tenderly in that moment. 

Owen woke up with tears in his eyes. It was as if that day just happened, but he knew it was almost five years ago. In fact, that was only a few missions before Curt… 

Why did he have to remember that  _ tonight?  _ He was in Curt’s home– in his  _ bed _ , for crying out loud. He reached out for a pillow, hugging it to his chest. It only made more tears come when it didn’t smell like Curt. 

Tomorrow, they’d end this. They would stop the DMA and Von Nazi. Owen vowed that he would, in honor of his love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. Happy Early Birthday to Curt Mega!! (Not the character, the actual person)


End file.
